The aging of my body and my beauty
is a wound from a merciless knife.
I’m not resigned to it at all.
I turn to you, Art of Poetry,
because you have kind of knowledge about drugs:
certain sedatives, in Language and Imagination.
It’s a wound from a merciless knife.
Bring your drugs, Art of Poetry –
they do relieve the pain at least for a while.
Melancholy of Jason Kleander, poet in Kommagini, A.D. 595